


And There Was Only One Bed

by JoyfulOmens (IDontHaveACleverQuip)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale, Asexual Crowley, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Comedy, Crowley Just Wants To Be Loved (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, No Beta or Britpicker here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDontHaveACleverQuip/pseuds/JoyfulOmens
Summary: Crowley decides to enact the oldest trope in the book, but Aziraphale is more resistant than anticipated.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	And There Was Only One Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic in January when too tired to focus on a chapter fic, and then forgot about it! About a month or so later, I enlisted [J_Anthony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Anthony/pseuds/J_Anthony) to assist me on the first two chapters and get me going again, and she did a BEAUTIFUL job!
> 
> Only just posting it now because I actually forgot about it again, oops XD;;;

With the apocalypse a thing of the past, and Heaven and Hell finally off their backs, Crowley had expected things to change between Aziraphale and himself. Nothing too dramatic, of course, he knew Aziraphale was resistant to change in general, he wasn't expecting _miracles_ here. But at least SOMETHING! 

Three years it had been since they were turned free from their obligations and could finally be on their own side. Yet nothing had changed! Okay, a little bit changed. Crowley no longer had to make up extravagant excuses to spend time with Aziraphale, for starters. And the demon supposed they _did_ go out to eat near every day. It was just that…he wanted more between them. A casual touch, or lingering glance just wasn’t cutting it anymore for Crowley. 

If Aziraphale wasn't interested in him, then he wouldn’t mind! Okay, he’d mind a lot, he’s a demon he can lie to himself. The point was, if Aziraphale told him to bugger off, he’d do it. He’d probably be extremely upset about it, maybe even try to sleep for the rest of eternity, but he’d do it. Crowley would do nearly anything for his angel, if he asked.

The thing was, Aziraphale wasn’t telling him to bugger off. Aziraphale wasn’t telling him much at all, and the phrase ‘mixed signals’ floated around Crowley’s mind often when they were together.

Crowley couldn’t deal with it anymore. It was time to force Aziraphale to make a move, or admit he wanted Crowley to scram.

So, after consulting google, (and a collection of archived romance fiction he would never admit to knowing about, much less reading) Crowley knew what he wanted, no, what he _needed_ to do. 

Slipping off his throne, Crowley made a hasty exit from his flat. It was almost dinner time, and he was going to take Aziraphale out to a romantic meal. _Then..._ they were going to _share a bed_.

–

Crowley sat on the edge of his seat as Aziraphale finished the final bites of his dessert. “Mmm, that was scrumptious.” said Aziraphale. “You really should try some one day, dear, you’re quite missing out.”

“Mm, I’m sure I am.” Crowley agreed, if only to move the conversation along. “Ready to head home, angel?”

“I suppose it is getting rather late.” Aziraphale smiled indulgently. “Looking forward to another nap, are you?” 

“Something like that.” Crowley miracled the check paid as he stood from the table and sauntered towards the exit. He’d had it all planned. Aziraphale liked to sit in his favorite chair and read through the night. Pity if something were to… _happen_ to that chair of his.

–

“Be a dear and pour the wine,” Aziraphale called from behind some piece of furniture doing some sort of thing (whatever it was angels do out of sight of their demon companions, Crowley had more important things to concern himself with at the moment than ponder what Aziraphale got up to in his bookshop without him), leaving Crowley with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “I just need to finish this, won’t be two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“Oh, I’ll pour some wine, all right,” Crowley muttered deviously under his breath.

This was the perfect moment to execute his masterfully crafted plan. The research of which had consisted mainly of reading from an online archive. Now, angling two wine glasses in one hand, the bottle in the other, he leaned ever so casually against Aziraphale’s favorite armchair. Crowley had no intention of actually pouring any wine into the glasses, but he had to make it at least _look_ like an accident. 

He held the bottle almost horizontally, splashing wine over the edges of the glasses and his hand allowing the dark red liquid to drip in a steady stream into the chair. Crowley pursed his lips while angling the bottle a bit different, before he _suddenly_ , but really on purpose, dropped the half filled glasses. 

"Oh, shoot." he called out, trying, and rather failing, to sound remorseful. “I _accidentally_ spilled the wine _all over_ your chair!” He shook his wine soaked hands out over the sofa as well and wiped them clean on the fabric for good measure. “I’m _so_ clumsy.” 

Aziraphale emerged from behind a bookshelf, reading glasses perched pointlessly on his nose. The angel looked over his chair and the sofa in concern, but within a few minutes his expression softened into a fond smile. “Oh dear. That _is_ clumsy,” he said.

“I _know_! I’m so _terribly_ sorry, let’s just…” Crowley started, but he was interrupted by a snap of Aziraphale’s fingers. The stains on both the sofa and chair disappeared. 

“There. All better now. Why don’t you lie on the sofa and take your nap? I do believe you rather need it, dear.”

Crowley grumbled and pulled a few faces to Aziraphale’s back, as the angel walked away to do his thing again. He let himself fall face first into the now clean sofa, one leg and one arm dangling down. To be fair, that had been a bit of a long shot. How the heaven had he not considered Aziraphale miracling the stains away? “He never miracles stains away from his clothes,” Crowley huffed, as he buried his face into a tartan throw pillow Aziraphale often left on the couch for him. 

He needed a new plan. Crowley would admit he _was_ rather good at scheming, and Aziraphale was often rather dense to said schemes (or at least he pretended to be for Crowley’s sake). And He _was_ dead set on plotting something new, but the comfort of being in the bookshop surrounded by the feel of Aziraphale’s grace lulled him to sleep, only managing to keep the idea of rats on his mind as he lost consciousness. 

Crowley woke much later, still alone in the backroom, but with a tartan blanket draped over him that definitely hadn’t been there when he fell asleep. Aziraphale’s tartan. Crowley groaned and dropped his head back onto the pillow. What did it MEAN?

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://joyfulomens.tumblr.com/) and [Discord](https://discord.com/invite/G6vPRmn)~!!


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